


Don't Even Feel It

by blueemissary (ziraphalez)



Series: Blue's BruceWeek2018 Contributions [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bruce Banner, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner Week, Bruce Banner-centric, Gen, Hulkeye - Freeform, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, POV Bruce Banner, can be read as, you can pry the 2012 'avengers as a found family' trope away from my cold hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 18:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziraphalez/pseuds/blueemissary
Summary: On a mission in Antarctica, Bruce struggles to prove his worth to the team, not just as Hulk, but as Bruce Banner too. Even to the point of risking his own well-being.---The only reason that Bruce is here is for backup. For the big guy. It… it makes him the tiniest bit angry. No, it’s notBannerthey’re keeping around, he thinks bitterly. It’s Hulk. Banner is just a vessel. Banner has no use.This is what Bruce thinks about as he stands his ground, shaking his head. “The radiation in my body elevates my body temperature. The cold doesn’t really affect me. Not like it does to you. And there’s no point letting you freeze your energy away out here. If you’re needed to fight, it’ll be better for you to be ready and at your best.”He folds his arms, hoping it looks decisive rather than defensive.---Bruce Week | Day 2 ~ Confession/Cold





	Don't Even Feel It

“..and if you look to your left, you will see… snow! And if you look to your right --”

“Clint, _please_ .” Bruce mutters into the table, on which is face is currently smushed. It’s the result of hitting his forehead on it to drown out Clint’s chatter five hours ago. He’d surprisingly managed to doze off during the time between then and now, only to wake hours later and find Clint _still_ talking. Right now can’t he quite make himself muster the energy to raise his head. So it’s into the table his words go.

“Doc, you haven’t looked out the window once. I’m doing you a favour here. Now on your right is --”

“Clint.”

Natasha’s voice is commanding and even Bruce feels compelled to roll his head to the side so that he can give her his attention. She signs something at Clint that is too quick for Bruce to translate with his still slightly sleep-addled brain. Immediately, Clint begins an impassioned response and they manage to continue their conversation (argument) in complete silence until the automatic doors open, granting entrance to Steve.

“We’re almost there,” he announces and they all follow him out and into the cockpit where Tony monitors JARVIS’ autopilot steering. He flashes them all a bright smile.

“We’re approaching the rendezvous point Doctor Foster gave us. Nothing on the radar yet but --”

Suddenly, a bright tunnel of multicoloured light shoots down from the sky to pierce the space in front of them. The quinjet readjusts just in time to swerve around it and Bruce braces himself on the back of a seat to avoid being thrown off balance.

“ -- I’m pretty sure Thor is around somewhere,” Tony finishes.

Bruce scoffs and comes to stand behind Tony so that he can look out of the windshield. The technology on the quinjet does a pretty good job at repelling most of the snow drifting down, but it’s still thick and looks rather uninviting. In fact Bruce is pretty sure it’s getting thicker by the second. Probably Thor’s doing. “You think?”

“Well I don’t know if you noticed the giant rainbow --”

“Please. Stop talking.”

“So it’s not just me.” Clint pops up behind them.

..

There’s something rather comedic, to Bruce, about seeing the Avengers all bundled up in Tony’s specially designed thermal gear. Steve was given a particularly large lining of fur on the hood of his coat and when he puts it up it almost swallows his face. And Natasha seems to be wearing no less than three different coloured scarves. At least as far as Bruce can see. It could be more.

He thinks he’s probably smiling to himself a little because Clint gives him a weird look as he passes by. “Something funny there?” This only serves to stretch Bruce’s smile wider. The coat Clint wears is so thick that it restricts his movement a little which, combined with the thigh deep snow drift they’ve wandered into, forces him to waddle along next to Bruce.

“I thought you were Hawkeye, not the penguin?”

The expression on Clint’s face is priceless, his eyes rolling and face morphing into one of disgust.

“Come on,” Bruce insists. “That was funny.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’d be laughing my ass off if it hadn’t already frozen off five minutes ago,” Clint grumbles, goodnaturedly.  

Thor, as usual, greets them in his standard Asgardian armour, now with his cape styled more like a poncho wrapped around him. Jane Foster shivers next to him, thick gloves clutching at a tablet tucked up against her chest. She gives Bruce a little wave, before tucking herself in tightly up against Thor’s side to preserve body heat.

“Is this you?” Steve yells at Thor through the wind. Thor’s bottom lip juts out thoughtfully, as if he’s just become aware of the storm slowly growing around them.

“I think so,” he booms back. The volume is effortless and his voice cuts through the wind without him even trying.

“Well.. can you turn it off?”

“Oh. Yes. Just a moment.”

Suddenly, a silence falls over the landscape and the air stills. Snowflakes seem to become suspended around them, hanging in the air like baubles on a tree. Then they begin a slow descent to the ground, thinning out until there’s nothing but clear skies.

It’s quite a beautiful place, Bruce observes, now that he can finally wipe his glasses and get a proper look at where they are. It’s like something out of a documentary. He half expects the penguins diving in the distance to be accompanied by a genteel British narration any minute now.

“So what’s the situation?”

Thor points to his right which, to Bruce, directs them to look at nothing more interesting than the other three corners of the compass. It’s just… snow. Everywhere.

 _Welcome to Antarctica,_ he thinks _._

The situation turns out to be an alien invasion. _Great._

According to Thor, there’s been rumours spreading for weeks now that another, more subtle attempt was going to be made on conquering earth. And where better to start than the most remote location on the planet?

“There are two potential entry points in this area. Jane has developed a device that can detect any gateways that open, so that we can meet them before they can cause any harm to the rest of your planet.”

“So we split up,” Steve continues on, “One team to each location and then report back here in a couple of days if we don’t find anything.”

Immediately, Clint raises his hand. “I call Nat’s team.”

Jumping into the game, Thor places a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “I’ll go with Jane.”

Bruce feels someone tug on his sleeve and suddenly he’s being pulled to the side to stand next to Natasha, who smiles at him as she declares: “Then we’ll take Bruce. You two can have Steve.”

“Hey! How come I get picked last?” Tony whines, mock-pouting.

Steve (who up until this point looked constantly on the verge of slapping himself in the forehead) turns to look Natasha dead in the eye, “Take Tony too.”

…

“Cozy,” Bruce hears Natasha mutter to herself as they enter Tony’s pop-up shelter. Indeed, it is a rather confined space. It has room enough for four cots to pull out of the wall, one above the other (like bunk beds, Bruce observes). A rectangular table sits in the centre and a miniature kitchen is tucked into the corner.

It’s slightly unsettling; small space’s don’t usually bode well for Bruce. Luckily, they only intend to be here for a few days.

The two SHIELD agents bag the top bunks. Which is a relief for Bruce, as he rather doubts his abilities to pull himself up that high without a ladder. _I should really work out_ , he thinks, staring subconsciously at the toned muscles moving in Natasha’s arms as she hoists herself up, taking all her weight on her hands at one point.

“Yeah, it’s a work in progress. It had to be compact so that we can carry it here. This thing isn’t exactly made out of your average canvas and polyester,” Tony responds, matter of factly.

Even if it’s a little cramped, the shelter is incredibly efficient in keeping them warm. Bruce would know; he helped Tony design it a while back. Although, up until now, he hadn’t realised it had even been made.

When he asks Tony about this, the other man simply says he’d been planning to show it to Bruce fully functioning ‘as a surprise’. As it is, this new mission had forced Tony to rush it and - a couple of hours into their long wait for a wormhole to appear - a problem soon occurs.

“JARVIS any movement?” Tony asks from his place at the table, twirling a pen between his fingers and brushing Natasha’s feet off the blueprint’s he’d been working on. Immediately, she puts them back up, tilting her head and daring him to do it again. Sighing, Tony swipes up the blueprints and moves them further away. It’s now that he seems to realise there has been no answer. “JARVIS?”

Bruce furrows his brow. Something is wrong. The three of them exchange a look and simultaneously head outside.

The problem, as it turns out, is the cold.

Tony’s technology is advanced and built to withstand anything. Or it would be, if he’d had the time to finish it. Apparently the storm had managed to knock JARVIS - and with him several other important functions - out of action.

“Great,” Tony scratches the back of his head with the pen, noticeably trying not to shiver too hard. Their thinner coats - built for ease of movement - while still warm are less protective against the bitter cold.

“Wha’s everyone doin’ out here?” Clint yawns from where his head pokes out of the shelter. Clearly, he’d just rolled out bed to find the room oddly empty and had come out to investigate.

“The systems are failing. I’ve got to fix this.” Tony ignores him and strides past him, the core of the system in hand. Clint gives Bruce a confused look.

“JARVIS is out. So’s the kitchen and the screens,” he explains. “It’s only a matter of time before the heating dies too.”

“You’re still not funny, Bruce.”

Bruce tilts his head and widens his eyes pointedly. Getting the message, Clint drags a tired hand down his face and groans. “Aw, goddamnit.”

“We need to start a watch,” Natasha cuts in. “If any invaders decided to make an appearance we have to be ready for them.”

Two voices reply in unison.

“I’ll do it.”

Brown eyes snap to blue, and Clint studies Bruce for a moment, hesitating before he speaks up. “I should probably be the one to do it, Doc. It’s okay, I’m used to this kind of thing.”

This statement grinds the world to a halt. Bruce’s frown deepens. Something about being dismissed like this doesn’t sit well with him, well meaning or not. The only reason Bruce is here is for backup. For the big guy. It… it makes him the tiniest bit angry. No, it’s not _Banner_ they’re keeping around, he thinks bitterly. It’s Hulk. Banner is just a vessel. Banner has no use.

As these thoughts cross his mind, Bruce stands his ground, shaking his head. “The radiation in my body elevates my body temperature. The cold doesn’t really affect me. Not like it does to you. And there’s no point letting you freeze your energy away out here. If you’re needed to fight, it’ll be better for you to be ready and at your best.” He folds his arms, hoping it looks decisive rather than defensive.  

For a second, he thinks he won’t pull it off. Clint looks so very much like he want’s to argue. But Natasha speaks up first. “I agree with Bruce.” She smiles at him, beginning to drag Clint back inside by his elbow, much to his disgruntlement. “I’ll bring out your coat and some soup.”

As promised, she returns several minutes later, coat and thermos in tow.

“Thanks.” he accepts the thermos off her gingerly, trying not to burn his hands. Expecting her to leave, he turns away to face the barren, white land stretching out in front of them.

But leave, she does not. Instead she takes up a place besides him, not sitting down and yet showing no indication that she intends to move. After a few minutes pass by in silence, she finally speaks up. “Are you okay?”

Now this is not what Bruce had been expecting. He raises his eyebrows at her, confused.

“Your face,” Natasha continues without prompting, “When Clint told you he’d be better at this. You looked a little... pissed off.”

Now Bruce prides himself on his poker face. It’s a face that has outwitted many an opponent and threat in the past. Impervious to all. So, of course, Natasha can read him like an open book.

“Sorry,” is all that he can think to say. He knows how tentative her relationship with the Hulk is. She’s probably been worried Clint would set him off.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Unexpectedly, she brushes a gloved hand over his head. Such displays of physical affection from Natasha are rare and awe-inspiring and not at all granted in situations like this. Bruce is now truly and thoroughly confused. But Natasha just smiles softly. “We’re glad you’re here, Bruce.” And with that, she withdraws and Bruce is left alone.

...

Several hours into his drawn out game of ‘I spy’, the sky grows dark and Bruce begins to dwell on his own argument against Clint. While it _is_ true that he doesn’t feel the cold as acutely as he used to, it isn’t exactly comfortable. The icy, wet snow begins seeping through his thick trouser about three hours in and he shifts uncomfortably. It seems his increased body heat is particularly unhelpful in this case, no doubt melting the snow much faster than usual.

Despite his discomfort, he also begins to feel himself dozing off. It’s been a long day and he’s not slept since his impromptu nap on the quinjet yesterday. Each time his eyelids begin to droop, he removes his glove from his right hand and buries into the snow, waiting for the cold to seep into his skin until it hurts and he becomes a little more aware.

It’s probably just after his eleventh cycle of doing this that Natasha emerges again. Fortunately, this is just after he gets his glove back on; he wouldn’t want to explain what is probably not the healthiest tactic for keeping himself alert. But he hadn't wanted to call any of the others outside. No, they needed their energy and he couldn’t take that from them for the sake of feeling a little sleepy.

This time she does sit next to him and Bruce finds her presence helps alleviate some of his exhaustion. Or perhaps it's just his body finally willing to cooperate with his desire to keep all his weaknesses internal.

“I think it’s time you came inside.”

“I’m fine.” His response is instantaneous. A natural reflex.

Natasha sees right through it.

“You’ve been out here for eight hours. You should get some of the heat while it’s still there --”

“I’m fine,” Bruce repeats. “I told you, I don't need it. I’ve got my own heater,” he says, tapping a finger to his temple.

Natasha tilts her head, eyebrows drawing together with concern. “Bruce --”

She stops mid-sentence, eyes widening. Both jump to their feet, gaping as the horizon is lit up with a bluish hue.

“That’s them,” Bruce says, dread filling him as the words leave his mouth.

“I’ll get the others.” Natasha nods, already racing back inside.

…

“Duck, Bruce!”

Dropping to the floor, Bruce does just that, hands over his head as a bolt shoot over him and acid eats into the snow behind him. An arrow sprouts from his attacker’s neck a moment later and he gives Clint a grateful nod.

After assembling in their thinner (but still thermal) gear, the four of them had followed the light to its source. Which just so happened to be a large alien ship. Full of a large alien army. And since - being dressed in red, purple and black - it hadn’t taken long for the Avengers to be spotted against the stark white, a battle had began much faster than they had anticipated.

So far, Hulk hasn’t been needed. And Bruce intends to keep it that way. Sure, he kept grumbling in the back of Bruce’s mind, insisting that he be let out, to smash, shout and _protect_ . But Bruce kept him firmly held back. They don’t _need_ Hulk yet. So he can stay as Bruce.

He manages to take down one of the aliens partly on luck. One of their weird, glowy staffs in hand, he’s been swiping it about at any that come near, until he turns around so quickly that the one who had been sneaking up behind him is instantly impaled. After that, he’s forced to drop it and keep out of the way. Occasionally he’ll be pulled aside by Tony or Natasha so that they can deal with the ones that come for him. Other time’s it’s a shout and an arrow from Clint. Bruce doesn’t hesitate to follow any instruction he’s given. As much as Clint had irked him before, he still trusts his friend with his life.

Suddenly, there’s a cry of surprise and Bruce turns to see Clint with some kind of alien arrow lodged through his coat sleeve. A bright, black ring begins to spread out from where the arrow hit, eating away at the sleeve like acid. Clint rips his coat off, fortunately appearing unharmed by the arrow himself. But now he’s left with just a thin outfit and, even as Bruce sees him pick himself up, the cold begins to take its toll rapidly.

Bruce begins heading towards him, only to find himself suddenly airborne. Two red, metallic hands carry him to the ship, which seems to have started up once more.

“Shut it down. I’ll get Barton.” Tony’s tinny Iron-Man voice projects from the suit, before it shoots back down to the ground.

Cold wind whips his hair back and he squints his eyes as he looks around, noticing he’s lost his glasses at some point during the fight. It seems Natasha is already up here with him. The two of them don’t hesitate to run inside, meeting each other at the entrance and continuing down a metallic hallway.

Bruce doesn’t know if they’re just lucky, or if Natasha had some superhuman way of detecting the direction they needed to take. Either way, they reach what looks like a control room in a reasonable amount of time.

Naturally, it’s heavily guarded. And, naturally, the two of them run straight into it.

With a shout, Natasha throws Bruce one of her guns, which he catches out of the air in surprise. Both dive for cover, taking turns to poke their head over and take one or two of them out.

“You have a surprisingly good aim,” Natasha remarks at one point.

“Thanks?”

Finally, just as Bruce begins to think the barrage of fire will never end, there’s a familiar whirring sound and Iron-Man blasts (rather unnecessarily, Bruce thinks, considering he was right next to the door) through a wall. From there the number of enemies drops considerably and Bruce manages to roll himself across various covers until he reaches what he determines must be something important. There’s a lot of buttons on the panel. Alien buttons.

Bruce gets to work.

“How’s it going?” Tony appears next to him at one point and Bruce finally looks up to see the room has been cleared. Ducking his head again, he goes back to focussing. “I don’t know. This is nothing like I’ve worked with before.”

“You’ll get it.”

Bruce pauses for a second, fingers hovering over the keys. There’s something in Tony’s voice… it seems so sure.

He shakes his head. This is Tony. It… it could mean anything. Better to stay on track and not dwell on it. It’s probably yet another joke that’s just gone over his head.

After what is maybe half an hour passes, there is a pointedly loud beep and the screens all turn red.

“Did you get it?”

Bruce shakes his head. In all honesty he hadn’t really known what he was aiming for. To shut it down?

Well. It seems to have worked.

“I think that’s bad.”

As if to prove his point the floor tilts to a worrying angle. Floor becomes wall and the four of them slide down as the room rolls.

They’re going to crash, Bruce realises. He looks at the others, suddenly very aware of how non-powered and downright _vulnerable_ they are.

Frantically he twist his head to and fro, searching for anything that will help them.

There. That looks like a steering lever if ever he’s seen one. Which he hasn’t. He’s just really desperate.

As the room begins to roll and ceiling becomes floor, Bruce leaps to the newly made wall and begins climbing to the roof. Up over chairs and grooves in the wall he goes, several questioning shouts following him. Mainly from Clint. Mainly asking _what the fuck does he think he’s doing?_

Bruce will show him. He stretches out and arm, reaching for the lever. When he doesn’t quite make it he climbs higher, cursing his short stature and reaching out again. His fingers brush it and he leans forward just a tiny bit more, finally grabbing it and pushing it as far forwards as he can. Unfortunately, the extra reach costs him his balance and even as the room spins to correct itself, he hangs by just one hand on the lever, feet dangling beneath him. Then his grip slips and he falls…

...right out the door. Hitting the wall hard, he grunts with pain and begins desperately scrabbling as he slides down the hallway to an even further drop. There’s a familiar whirr above him and, just before he hits the bottom, a hand catches onto his and Natasha smiles down at him from Tony’s arms.

“We’ve got you, Bruce,” Clint shouts up from Tony’s back.

A warmth spreads in Bruce’s chest, so different to his reaction to Clint’s earlier disagreement with him.

Unfortunately, the universe hates him and he doesn’t have long to bask in it before he realises that they’re still falling, albeit slower. The Iron-Man suit was not built for four.

Their controlled fall takes them outside and away from the falling ship, which collapses in on itself upon impact and is left a smoking heap, a greyish blot on the otherwise pristine landscape. As for Bruce, he drops out of Natasha’s hand a couple of feet above the ground, rolling to absorb some of the impact until he finally slows to a stop.

“Well.” He hears Tony’s voice clearly now. He must have the faceplate up. “That was fun.”

…

The problem with taking so long to dismantle the spaceship is that they’d been taken far away from their shelter. No food, no heating. Just the clothes on their back. Which in Clint’s case is considerably less clothes than required.

They find a cave to get him out of the wind, but Bruce can see his lips are already turning blue.

 _Vulnerable_.

The word plays in his mind again. Clint may die. Hell, the other two might. But Clint… Clint first.

Biting his lip, Bruce shrugs off his coat.

“N-no-o, Br-ruce…” Clint’s protests are weak (not for lack of trying but from his teeth chattering and lethargy lacing his voice). But even Tony looks troubled, and not just for Clint, Bruce thinks.

“It’s fine,” Bruce assures them. “I can’t really feel the cold anyway.” And if he was wearing a coat this would be true. As it is, he can already feel the discomfort of coldness seeping into his body. But he keeps his posture, not willing to give it away. “Besides, he’ll die if he doesn’t get warm enough soon.” It’s an argument no one can counter.

Sighing, Tony opens up a little panel on the arm of his suit. “I can get a trace on Dr Foster’s location. It’s closer than our own spot and we already dealt with that side of invasion anyway so we should head there after we’ve gotten our second wind.”

They all make noises of agreement, Clint with chattering teeth. Worry on Tony’s face, he settles himself besides Clint and offers out an arm. Without missing a beat, Clint leans into the electrical warmth that radiates from the suit. On his other side, Natasha presses close to him, offering her body heat too. She looks at Bruce and he jumps when she speaks up.

“Get over here, Bruce.” She pauses and then elaborates, “He needs all the warmth he can get.”

There’s something in her tone that makes him think that this isn’t just about Clint. But he’s not sure enough to make an assumption. It’d require more for him to ask her about it.

So instead, he does as he’s bid and joins them.

…

It’s with a great sigh of relief that it is announced that Clint is now well enough to move on. So off they go, seeing no need to stay put.

Snow buries Bruce’s feet and climbs up his calves as they trudge. The old seeps ever deeper into his muscles. He tries to keep it subtle, but eventually he has not choice but to wrap his arms around himself to preserve what body heat he had left from their little cuddling session. Perhaps if he stays at the back of the group no one will notice. Perhaps if he just keeps telling himself he can’t get cold, as avidly as he reassures the others, it’ll come true.

Not so. He’s feeling it. And Clint sees it.

“You need this.”

“No. I don’t.”

This back and forth has been going on for several minutes now.

“Bruce, please --”

“What’s that?” Natasha interrupts.

There’s a flashing in the distance, bright blue light like before. Then a thundering boom, followed by an arc of electricity that cracks through the sky. Heavy, clumpy snowflakes fall from the sky. A storm begins to brew, yet again.

“Thor,” they say in unison, and pick up the pace.

The battle is constantly moving and in full swing, which helps to bring it closer to them even as they race towards it. But it’s so much worse than before.

Three ships. All shooting. And they’re big. Really big.

A sudden blast hits the ground right next to Bruce and he goes flying to the side, landing in a deep drift of snow that drenches him in ice within seconds as the snow begins to melt around him, probably from the heat of the blast.

“Bruce!” Clint calls from a few feet away. He has one hand on his bow, concern etched across his face.

_Right._

“I know,” Bruce says, pushing himself to his feet with as much strength as he can muster. “I’ve got this.”

And before Clint can protest, he changes.

…

At first it’s just dark. Dark and cold. But the cold he feels, at first, is mild. Almost soothing.

His sight returns, fuzzy and white. Blinding him. Pain shoots into his head just as tiny pinpricks of pain begin shooting all over his body.

Movement is next. Or it should be. It takes a few minutes for Bruce to realise that it should have happened by now. But he’s too numb, so painfully numb. And cold. Naked, covered in snow and cold. To make matters worse there’s not a battle in sight. Just one, lone alien, left in a mangled heap a few feet away.

He tries calling their names but his tongue won’t form the words. Gritting his teeth, he pulls himself forwards a few inches by his hands, dragging himself out of the snow that buries him up to his lower back, before his strength gives out and he collapses, feet still not quite free.

Everything… everything is heavy.

His arms...

His legs...

His eyes...

…

He doesn’t stay awake long enough to see the tunnel of multicolored light shoot down nearby. Nor does he feel the strong arms that scoop him up and carry him away.

…

Waking again is far more pleasant the second time, even if it’s just as tiring.

When his eyelids flutter open, the first thing he notices is purple. Purple and grey.

The lights are dimmed. He’s inside the quinjet, wrapped up in multiple layers of blankets and with Clint - wrapped in a single blanket - looking at him expectantly.

“Anything you want to confess to me, Doc?”

Sighing deeply through his nose, Bruce gives himself a moment to get his voice working. “I may…” he croaks, clearing his throat, “...feel the cold… a little bit.” He smiles wryly. This gets him a laugh, half disbelieving, half amused.

“That’s funny,” Clint grins, “Now don’t ever do that again.”

Ah. He’d causes a problem for them.

Bruce’s heart sinks and he nods glumly. Here he is at the end of it all, post-Hulk. Weak and pathetic. Useless.

“Hey,” Clint interrupts his train of thought. “Thank you” -- Bruce’s eyes widen a fraction in surprise -- “for saving my life. I really owe you one for the coat. And the hug. And the crashing ship. Although, that was partly your fault too.”

Now it’s Bruce’s turn to act disbelieving. “You try driving the next alien spaceship and tell me how easy it is then.”

The warmth he felt earlier that day - perhaps yesterday, perhaps last week because who knows how long he was out? - returns. It floods into him, more intensely than before. Because Clint had listed all of the things he did. _Him._ Not Hulk.

It would seem he’s no longer just kept around for the big guy. Which is really something he should have realised much sooner, he thinks, remembering each of his teammates’ concern throughout the mission. Concern that he’d been too busy proving he didn’t need to take in the implications of it all.

“You’re on,” Clint shrugs, “I’m a great pilot. I think. Probably.”

“Probably? Shouldn’t flying come naturally to you? HAWK. Eye.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Shut up, Bruce.” An affectionate hand ruffles his hair. “And get some rest,” he adds, softer.

“You deserve it.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's 5am and I proofread this myself. What can go wrong? ~~I'm posting this in end notes so you all don't go looking for my typos first cause I'm smort. ha. what is sleep~~
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr ](https://asgardianbruce.tumblr.com/)


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